


Too Hot

by LadyNimrodel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Forced Kissing, Kinda, M/M, its for a game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNimrodel/pseuds/LadyNimrodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too Hot: A game where two players kiss without stopping and without touching each other. If one player touches the other, s/he loses. The winner gets to do what s/he wants to the loser.</p><p>Sometimes life is just not fair. This is not one of those times. Also, Thorin gets to make out with the cutie he's been staring at all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't even know. I saw a post for this game on tumblr and I was like DUDE I WANNA WRITE THIS. So I did. There was going to be smut but Thorin and Bilbo seemed to have other ideas. So perhaps a sequel if enough people like it!

“This is a really stupid game,” Thorin grumbles, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He is not pouting, regardless of the look he is receiving from Dwalin. He hates that look. Almost as much as he hates this stupid game. 

“You were laughing along with everyone else at Kili only two seconds ago,” his friend reasonably reminds him, which only makes Thorin glower harder. Kili makes a token sound of protest to his right but he ignores it.

“Because he lasted two blasted seconds before he had his hands all over the girl!” he protests because it was funny. Of course, Kili is completely drunk off his arse and can’t keep his hands off his girlfriend on a normal day. Thorin suspects Tauriel knew she was going to win when she agreed to play. After, when Fili asked her what she is going to make Kili do, she just smiled a sharp, predatory smile and said, 

“Dinner with my step-father. In a tux and on his best behavior,” to which everyone cringed. Or laughed hysterically, in Fili’s case. Everyone knows how intimidated Kili is by Thranduil. Perhaps it doesn't help that Thranduil has arrested him more than once, a fact that no one is going to forget any time soon. Or that he threatened Kili when he and Tauriel started dating. Also more than once. Thorin just hopes his nephew survives the dinner. 

Actually, Thorin wants to survive tonight, speaking of surviving things. 

It had been going well, at first. 

Dis always holds an annual get-together at the end of July, complete with barbecue, picnic tables outside covered with floral plastic table cloths, and an abundance of tiny white lights and lanterns in the trees and strung along the fence. A fire pit crackles merrily at one end of the big back yard, where marshmallows and long sticks have been provided. People have been floating in and out of the yard for several hours now; people she knows from work, family, friends. This shin-dig started after she lost her husband in a car accident and it sort of gained its own life as the years went by. With free food, a never ending supply of beer, and an excuse to gossip, Thorin supposes it would. 

But then, once the evening is worn old and night is fully set in, the games start. 

Last year it was Cards Against Humanity. Thorin liked that one. He won more times than he lost. The year before was an intense battle of Janga that too many people tried to play at once and usually ended in disaster before more than three blocks were pulled. That one had the neighbors calling the cops, Dwalin and Kili were yelling so loudly. One year someone brought out twister, which was a fucking awful idea and was just plain embarrassing for everyone involved. Especially when Fili nearly landed face first into his mother’s chest. The boy nearly died of mortification, especially when Dis abandoned the game and clung to him like a limpet while laughing hysterically for the rest of the night. There was an incident of beer dumped over one of Dis’s co-worker’s head, of Nori losing his pants (while still playing twister), and of Kili trying to start a fight with one of the neighbors. 

Thorin tells himself at least this year no one started any fights and everyone is still pretty much clothed (Gloin’s son Gimli swears he didn’t mean to dump icy beer down Ori’s back but he’d still gotten an earful when everyone realized he was drunk and not yet of age). By now, most of the guests have gone home and the rest sit around the fading fire pit in various degrees of incline. It is just Dis and her sons, Kili’s girlfriend, who still looks rather smug even while wearing a Kili blanket over her lap, while Fili flirts determinedly with Ori. Gloin, one of Thorin’s best metal workers at the forge, and his wife giggle together behind him and their son is glowering at the fire, still smarting from his earlier scolding. Beside him, a dark haired boy Thorin doesn’t recognize tries to draw him unsuccessfully into conversation. 

Neither show any inclination in joining the game. 

Ori’s oldest brother Dori, who sells the jewelry, art and decorative weapons from Thorin’s forge in his shop, is pouring over a notebook in his lap, occasionally tapping his bottom lip with a pen. The middle brother is nowhere to be seen and neither is Thorin’s brother, a fact that sends a chill down his spine. Nori and Frerin together never ends well. And the traitor, Dwalin, lurks at Thorin’s side like a great hulking beast, softened a little by drink. The only two left are Dwalin’s brother, seated at the edges of the fire with a man Thorin has never seen before. Their heads are tilted together and they have been discussing something with great intensity for the last half hour. 

Thorin knows this because he can’t take his eyes off the strange man for more than thirty seconds at a time. 

Whoever came up with this game he would very much like to throttle. 

“I am not kissing a complete stranger, especially not for some dumb game,” he snarls at his friend, his beer can crunching warningly in his hand. Dis tips her head to the side as she contemplates him. 

“Come on, Thorin, don’t be such a sour puss,” he hates the wicked smile that curls on her lips. There are plenty that could go in his stead but he can see by the way his sister and friend are smiling at him it will be him whether he likes it or not.

Forty-one years old and here he is, being pressured into a kissing game most likely invented by horny teenagers.

Kili was the first to volunteer when the game was outlined, drunk fool that he is. And promptly lost two seconds in, much to everyone’s amusement (“But I didn’t know I couldn’t touch her! Let me have a do-over”). Tauriel then pointed to Dis with a smile and a wink and Thorin would very much like to wipe away the memory of his sister sucking face with his best friend. 

Dis lost but only because she couldn’t help reaching around and giving Dwalin’s bum a firm pinch. Thorin is still thinking of a way to forget that one. He doesn’t ask what Dwalin will make her do but he suspects he’ll just make her do his laundry. Being friends since they were all still in diapers, Dwalin is more of a brother than a friend now. Still, they didn’t need to use tongue. 

Thorin shudders. 

He felt bad when Fili took the next turn, rounding on Ori beside to him with a gleam in his eye. Who blushed madly and tried to protest but convinced absolutely no one. Surprisingly, Ori held his own against Fili’s onslaught for a good while, giving as good as he got while keeping his hands firmly behind his back. But then Fili had done something and the boy practically melted into him, hands buried in blond hair as he nearly climbed into Fili’s lap. The loud whooping from several drunk onlookers is the only thing that tore the two apart. 

“What’s your prize, brother?” Kili slurred and Fili grinned at Ori. 

“I’d like take you on a date, actually,” to which Ori promptly went red again, though he agreed readily enough. 

All this is all good and well, Thorin thinks moodily. Everyone who participated is either together, wanted to get together or knows each other so well a few kisses mean absolutely nothing. 

“Well, then the game is over,” Thorin snaps in response to the continued ribbing, taking a fortifying swig from his beer, “You can take your game and shove it up your—”

“Now, now, big brother,” says a voice behind him just before a heavy weight lands on his back. Thorin grunts and glares when his younger brother Frerin’s face appears over his shoulder, “Loosen up! It’s just a game!” he jostles Thorin a little, his grin pointed and teasing. Thorin adds him to the list of things he hates tonight. It is becoming a very long list. 

“Frerin, I am not making out with a stranger,” he growls in a low voice because he’s getting tired of the same argument, “I’m not making out with anyone,” he notices Nori slinking in to sit beside Dwalin, face smug and suspicion tingles at the back of his mind, “What exactly were you and Nori getting up to this time?” he asks, mostly to just take the pressure off of himself, “Am I going to have to bail the two of you out of jail again?” Frerin just laughs and squeezes Thorin’s shoulders.

“No changing the subject, brother. You aren’t fooling anyone, you know,” Frerin lowers his voice, “Stranger he may be but you’ve been staring at him all night,” Thorin throws him off with a snarl and a flush burning his ears. Frerin just flops back in the grass, laughing. When he looks up at his older brother now towering over him, his eyes twinkle with mischief, “Its a good ice breaker,”

“More like a grenade,” Dwalin mumbles then snorts at something Nori says under his breath. 

“Are you afraid?” a new voice challenges and they all look over to find the strange man standing on the other side of the fire pit, hands on his hips and one ginger eyebrow lifted. Balin stands next to him with his hands hiding in his sleeves and an entirely too bland look on his face. But Thorin is staring at the other man, completely at a loss. 

“What?” he finally says inanely and his stomach twists into all kinds of knots when the man smirks at him. 

“I said, are you afraid?” his eyes flash in the firelight and if Thorin had not already been struck by him, he would be now. They all kind of blink stupidly at the man, Frerin sitting up with the beginnings of a feral smile on his face. The man crosses his arms and lifts one eyebrow, “You all talk really loudly,” his lips twist upwards and it does things to Thorin. Dis and Frerin now have identical expression of glee on their faces and that is the only thing that keeps him quiet. The dark haired boy beside Gimli is staring at the man with wide, shocked eyes and hisses, 

“Uncle!” in a very scandalized voice. Thorin wonders if the man’s bravery is natural or alcohol driven. By the look on the boy’s face, he suspects the latter. 

Thorin isn’t sure how he feels about that. 

And then he thinks about what Dis had said, when she first turned to Thorin with that wicked gleam in her eyes right after Fili asked whose turn it was, “You’re next, Thorin, with that little cutie over there you’ve been staring at all night.” Remembers her words, realizes this man heard them, and promptly feels his face blaze with heat. Oh hell. Desperate and embarrassed, he hunts around for something to say but the only thing he can manage is, 

“But I’m not the only one who hasn’t gone yet,” it sounds stupid and the looks he gets suggests that everyone else thinks it sounds stupid too. He just gestures helplessly at his brother and Nori, hating the growing smirk on the strange man’s face. Frerin barks a laugh, blond hair flicking over his shoulder as he stands and gestures at Nori. 

“Sure, sure, brother,” Nori sidles up to Frerin, wearing a similar sly smile that’s directed over Throin’s shoulder at Dwalin of all people. He really does not want to know, “Gotta make sure all the escape routes are taken care of, I get it,” and he plants a ridiculous, smacking kiss on Nori’s willing lips. There’s some howling from Fili and Kili and a low grumbling from Dwalin (which makes him curious now and he is absolutely grilling his friend about this later). Frerin and Nori are both careful to keep their hands behind their backs, leaning in at ridiculous angles that would have Thorin snorting with laughter if the weighted gaze of the small, handsome man on the other side of the fire wasn’t still heavy on his face. 

But then the kissing goes from stupid and ridiculous to a deep, competitive tangle of lips and tongue and ew. 

It lasts only long enough for Dwalin to lurch forward and bodily drag Nori away, face red. 

“That’s enough!” he is snarling as Nori struggles in his hold, 

“What the hell!? I was winning!” he snaps, long red braid flying. His struggles mean nothing, his slight frame useless against Dwalin’s strength and he is dragged halfway across the lawn before Dwalin finally puts him down. There is a rushed, furious discussion between the two, Nori gesturing wildly while Dwalin glowers and huffs, though they are too far away fro Thorin to make anything out. Interesting, Thorin thinks, sharing a look and a shrug with Dis. He would definitely be having words with his friend. 

Meanwhile, Frerin nearly collapses back to the ground with laughter, “I win by forfeit!” he yells and gets an enraged shout as a response. Thorin doesn’t know if it was Nori or Dwalin. Or both. 

And then he swings his gaze back around (like he has been all night) and finds the man watching him closely, eyes glittering. 

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten you, Thorin,” Fili says good-naturedly, grin soft in the firelight. His arm is slung around Ori’s shoulders and he wonders if they’ve noticed Dori throwing glares their way. No doubt proud of her son, Dis leans around Ori and gives him a grin. Thorin hates them. Absurdly, the whole situation makes him want to stamp his feet like a five year old. Or run away. Hide himself in the house somewhere until tomorrow morning.

“The challenge was accepted,” Dis agrees. Off to the side, Kili slurs the word ‘challenge’ over and over again. Still the man stares. And he realizes there is no escaping this. If he flat out refuses, his family will never let him hear the end of it. The game is stupid and juvenile, yes, but they have set rules that everyone seems to be making up on the fly and are then unwilling to see broken. As he looks around, he knows he’s lost. They are all watching him, even Dwalin and Nori, and Balin where he stands unobtrusively at the strange man’s shoulder. Even Tauriel and drunken Kili have stopped staring at each other and have pinned him with their gazes. 

He is going to kiss a complete stranger. 

“Fine,” Thorin snarls, “Fine, I’ll do it. Are you all happy?” he runs a hand over his hair, fraying from it’s braid by this time of the night, and mutters an empathetic “fuck,” under his breath. And then there’s nothing left to do but slam down his beer and march around the fire until he’s standing right in front of the man, who’s face is rosy pink even in the shadows. Definitely had at least a few beers. But his eyes are clear on Thorin’s face and his mouth curls upwards in a challenging smile. It makes Thorin’s palms sweaty with nerves. 

“Do you know the rules?” he grumbles, absently rubbing his hands against his jeans. Someone snorts behind him and he can feel the heat beginning to crawl up from under his collar. 

“I know the game involves kissing,” the man answers blithely. Thorin likes the way the word ‘kissing’ sounds on his tongue, the way it looks formed on his lips. He stares for a minute, realizes what he’s doing and hides an embarrassed cough in his fist. 

“Yes, it does rather,” he mumbles and wonders if it’s still too late to go hide himself in the depths of his sister’s house. The man’s smile sharpens. 

“I know the rules,” he murmurs, “Like I said, you all talk very loudly.” A laugh lodges itself in the back of Thorin’s throat, a big sound that gets stuck at the back of his throat. He gets caught in the webs of the man’s long eyelashes and the depths of his eyes. In the semi-darkness, he cannot make out the color of them. They just look like pools of darkness with a gleam here and there from firelight. The curls of his hair, framing his face and brushing against the collar of his sweater, look like polished brass. He’s cute too, with big eyes and round nose and mobile lips seem to express all kinds of things. 

Like right now they are quirked in a crooked smirk but he can see the waver of unease hiding in one corner. 

All of a sudden, Thorin isn’t so nervous.

“Alright then,” his heart pounds and his mouth is dry and he feels absolutely fucking ridiculous, especially since everyone is watching. But the man in front of him is watching him too, short and lovely and now no longer smiling. There is something inviting at the edges of his eyes and in the softness of his lips. After a night of staring, Thorin can’t convince himself he doesn’t want a taste. So, with his hands clasped firmly at his back, he steps right up to the shorter man, toe to toe and leans in.

The last thing he sees is the big eyes fluttering closed, unfocused and dark and then the smoothness of someone else’s lips slides over his own. 

It’s awful at first. 

Not because the man is a bad kisser. Thorin can’t really tell. Their lips merely touch, bottom lip to bottom lip, top lip to top. Hot breath swirls against his chin and it smells a little like beer. He can only imagine what his own breath must smell like. Thoughts twist in his mind, uncomfortable and prickly. It’s just so awkward. Pressing his mouth to that of a complete stranger and just standing there like an idiot and…

The man breathes in and his lips shift, just a little, bottom lip sliding between Thorin’s and just like that, something changes. 

An electric fizz jolts through him at the slide of skin where they are connected. A hint of wetness at the round curve of where bottom lip meets the top one. A harder press, rather than just a touch. 

And then Thorin can’t stop himself from tipping his head to the side, just a little. Can’t help parting his lips, really kissing now, can’t help enjoying the feel of that plump bottom lip between his, the delightful curve of his top lip rubbed by the wiry scruff of Thorin’s beard. They seek a better angle at the same time, Thorin using his superior height to his advantage and, oh, yes, that’s much better. There’s rhythm in the press and slide of their lips, an art to the tilt of their heads. Never once do their noses smash together and if he feels a hint of teeth behind the wonderfully mobile lips under his own, well, it’s only because he kind of wants to climb inside and count them with his tongue. 

Any thoughts of awkwardness or an audience are well and truly silenced. 

His entire world has come down to the sweet, sweet lips pressed insistently against his own, damp and soft and oh so wonderful. 

At the edges of his awareness, he notices a fluttering of movement and when he cracks his eyes open, he can see the man’s hands flicking impatiently at his shoulders. Not touching but clearly wanting to. Thorin’s hands ached from holding them so tightly at his back. But then the man’s damp bottom lip drags up under Thorin’s top lip and he feels it all the way down to his toes. 

Later, he won’t remember who really opens their mouth first. Maybe it’s him, lost at the sensation of that wicked upper lip scratching against his beard. Or maybe it’s the other man when Thorin swoops his lip up under the dip of his smooth chin and mouth, the dark, shadowed place that tastes of salt and skin. All he knows is parted lips open up an entirely new world, a new dimension of wetness and heat and, yes, he could count all of the man’s teeth if he wants to. 

He thinks he does. 

Despite the swooping, falling sensation in the pit of his stomach, they are both hesitant to just dive in. 

A touch of his tongue to the inside of the other man’s upper lip, slick and hot. A flicker of breath against his teeth. He drinks in the hot exhale gasped out against his mouth, into his mouth that tastes like beer and breath. There’s a line, invisibly drawn, though they both seem to know exactly how far they need to step in order to go over it. Small touches of tongue is dangerously toeing that line, he realizes fuzzily. But now that they’ve started, he doesn’t know if he can stop. Not when slick wetness nudges along the inside rim of his lower lip, not when he bravely touches along the other man’s front teeth. 

That is where the line is firmly drawn. 

But as soon at their tongues meet and slide together, they are long past stepping over the line and well into racing over it. 

Things get a little fuzzy when he gets his tongue firmly inside the man’s open mouth. His brain has gone a blank and everything has narrowed down to this man and his lovely, delicious kiss. The world has dropped away, as has the reason behind the kiss or the rules or the fact that he had not wanted to play in the first place. All he knows is the sensation of plump lips sliding against the sensitive skin of his own. Of a tongue curling around his, touching upon his teeth, rubbing at the inside of his cheek, nearly buckling his knees with a touch to the roof of his mouth. He does he upmost to return the favor and is rewarded with a small, rough moan. 

The sound goes straight through him, burns a line of fire through his blood so hot he can’t even breathe in its wake. 

He is seriously considering burying himself in this kiss when someone clears their throat loudly at his shoulder. The sound is incongruent with soft lips and even softer tongue and the wet taste of another’s mouth. Enough that it breaks the spell and he pulls away from the man with a gasp. Air rushes into his lungs. He didn’t realize how much he needed to breathe until now. In front of him, pressed all along his front, the man whose name he still does not know but whose teeth he is now intimately acquainted with stares back. Thorin is gratified to see that he is as dazed as Thorin feels. 

“I thought you two would never come up for air,” Frerin’s dry voice startles him. For long, earthshaking moments, the man with kiss bruised lips and mussed curly hair was the only person in existence.

They realize at the same moment how tangled they are with one another. Thorin has a good fistful of honey-brown curls while his other arm is an iron grip around a slim back. The other man, too, has his hands curled around Thorin’s shoulders, fingers pulling at the material of his t-shirt. With reality setting in, embarrassment finds a strong foothold and they detangle themselves with much throat clearing and reddened cheeks. 

“Who won?” the man finally asks, voice a little rough and Thorin bites the inside of his cheek to check the visceral reaction he as to the sound. On his tongue Thorin can still taste him. Feeling it safer to look at his brother rather than the man still standing too closely, Thorin cannot miss the wry twist of Frerin’s lips. 

“Neither of you won,” he says in a rather flat tone of voice. They both stare at him for a second.

“What?” Thorin barks, closely echoed by the other man. A quick glance shows him flushed cheeks and dark, shining eyes. 

Frerin shrugs, “Yup. Both of you touched the other at the same time. So no winner,” he grins a large, toothy smile that Thorin knows from experience has twenty meanings behind it. None of which ever bode well for him. “Or, you know, you’re both winners if you want, I really don’t care,” he shakes his head at Thorin, gaze amused, before he wanders off to plop down next to Dis. Who is looking at Thorin with a soft, knowing look on her face. He turns away from it, afraid of the conformation he knows he’ll find in it and rubs the back of his neck. In doing so, he finds his gaze caught on the shorter man who is biting his lip and looking up at him through his curls. 

Goodness, but he’s cute. Thorin recalls the taste that hides in the dip of the man’s lips and he flushes all over again. 

Words are stilted in his throat but he needn’t be concerned because the man smiles at him a moment later and says, “I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins,” his teeth shine in the dim firelight and the lamps on the fence. Thrown clears his throat. He has to tell himself not to stare at Bilbo’s lips anymore. 

“Thorin Durin,” he responds reflexively. Bilbo’s smile turns a little wry. 

“Yes, I know. I work with Balin at the University and I saw you when we went to get lunch a few weeks ago. Saw you walking by on the street past the window,” Bilbo laughs, a lovely rich sound that Thorin can very easily listen to every day, “He noticed me staring, I’m afraid. It was on his suggestion I come tonight, actually.” The way he says it, slightly self deprecating, lights up something in Thorin. He doesn’t have a name for it, only that it is warm and wiggly and completely foreign. It puts a smile on his face to match Bilbo’s. 

“I’m sure you didn’t come to be dragged into our rather juvenile games,” he responds and gets another twinkling laugh. 

“Kind of glad I did, though,” and anything Thorin is about to say gets blown right out of his head. Around them the night has become chilly but he doesn’t feel it. Crickets hum in the long grass by the fence and cars periodically whoosh by on the street in front of the house but he doesn’t hear them. Artificial lights bob in the tree and along the fence and the moon peeks through the branches but he sees none of that. He is caught by Bilbo’s smile, by the timbre of his voice, by the remembered sensation of his lips. And Thorin smiles at him, wide and warm. 

“I’m glad you did too,” he murmurs. He reaches out one hand, palm up and Bilbo takes it without question, fingers warm and dry against Thorin’s skin. He looks at the slim hand, smaller than his own, with slender fingers and neatly trimmed nails. There is a smudge of ink on the fourth finger of Bilbo’s right hand and he absently rubs his thumb over it, “So did we tie? Or did we both lose?” he questions and gets a shrewd look. 

“We both won, of course,” Bilbo says, teeth shining. Thorin wants to lick them again, “And I believe I am going to ask you out to dinner.” Absurdly pleased, Thorin laughs. 

“Very well,” he allows, “Then my prize is your phone number,” and gets a small thrill when Bilbo readily agrees. Alright, he thinks to himself as he pulls out his phone and enters the numbers Bilbo recites to him, perhaps tonight had not gone nearly as bad as he’d feared. He still had his family’s teasing to look forward to but he also has a date for tomorrow night and the promise he can text Bilbo whenever he wants. 

The game may be stupid but he rather likes the results.


End file.
